Chapter 1 The Eccentric Old Woman

• My name is Zayne Meyer, and I live in a small town on the northern border of North Adonia.
• Since childhood, I had been dependent on my grandfather, running a burial clothing shop in town. Profits were slim, just enough to get by.
• In this shop, tucked away in a corner, sat an old coffin that had been there for many years.
• Periodically, my grandfather would meticulously repaint it with black lacquer.
• Over the years, whenever someone came to buy a coffin, my grandfather always insisted on making a custom one and never considered selling this old coffin.
• I once asked my grandfather why he cherished this coffin so much.
• He chuckled, saying it was meant for himself. He insisted that when his time came, it must be sealed with peach wood nails, never iron.
• Sometimes, his words seemed cryptic, almost like a fantasy story. Gradually, I grew accustomed to it and stopped thinking much about the coffin.
• Until that day...
• It was a hot day at the end of July. My grandfather went out visiting friends, leaving me alone in the shop. I was sprawled across the glass counter, cooling off with a fan and playing on my phone. I was feeling lazy and uninspired.
• Near noon, a light cough caught my attention from outside. I lazily lifted my head and was stunned by what I saw outside the shop.
• Standing there was an elderly woman, looking to be in her seventies, slightly hunched.
• She held a black umbrella, standing there quietly.
• What struck me was her attire on such a sweltering day—she wore long pants and a coat, completely covered up.
• Just looking at her made one feel unbearably hot.
• Her face was lined with many wrinkles, resembling the bark of an old tree. Patches of age spots peppered her complexion, adding to her unsettling appearance.
• As I stared, the old lady grinned, sending a shiver down my spine.
• “May I come in?”
• Her voice was hoarse and ominous.
• I blinked, feeling uneasy.
• The door is open. You could've come in if you wanted. Why ask me?
• I quickly rose to my feet, wearing a professional smile on my face. “Please come in. What can I help you with?” I asked.
• The old woman didn't respond to my words. Carrying a black umbrella, she walked into the burial clothing shop. Inside, she began to slowly pace, meandering around and scrutinizing her surroundings.
• This didn't feel like a regular visit to buy a coffin at all.
• Moreover, as she entered, I caught a strange odor—a musty smell, akin to the distinct scent of old age, but stronger and unpleasant.
• I frowned slightly. Watching her, I asked softly again, “What do you need?”
• Still ignoring me, the old woman walked to the corner where the old black coffin stood, extending her bony hand to gently stroke it.
• “How much for this coffin?”
• Hearing her gravelly voice, I hesitated for a moment, then smiled and said, “Oh, this coffin isn't for sale. If you're interested, we can customize one for you. We have thick and thin options...”
• “Not for sale yet it's still on display?” She interrupted me, squinting at me. Her smile seemed even more sinister now. “Fifty thousand, if you agree, it's a done deal. What do you think?”
• As soon as she spoke those words, a jolt ran through my heart, causing me to regard her with a newfound caution.
• I was certain now—this elderly woman was definitely mentally unstable. Despite the sweltering heat, she was bundled up tightly. She was offering fifty thousand for a coffin, if that wasn't madness, what was it?
• Even if she did have the money, I couldn't accept it. One, I couldn't afford to deal with a lunatic like her. Two, this coffin was truly not for sale. If I sold it, my grandfather's attachment to it would surely lead to my undoing.
• I cleared my throat softly, offering a polite smile as I cautiously spoke. “I'm truly sorry, but this particular coffin is not for sale. If you want a ready-made coffin, you can try the fifth shop on the right down the street. They have some ready for purchase...”
• “Forget it, then!” She cut me off again, looking at me with a smile that wasn't quite a smile. “What's your name?”
• “Huh?” I blinked, wary. “Why do you ask? If you're not buying anything...”
• “Your grandfather is Gunther Meyer, right?” She interrupted me again.
• Before I could respond, she scratched her slightly sharp nails across the coffin, leaving a thin mark. The friction between her nails and the coffin lid created an eerie sound.
• It sounded like the grating sound a teacher unintentionally made with chalk on the blackboard during school days. I felt unsettled.
• Is this old woman here just to cause trouble?
• I frowned at her, growing impatient. “What exactly do you want?”
• The elderly woman chuckled softly, her gaze fixed on the black coffin. Her gaunt fingers lightly tapped on the coffin twice. Her voice, oddly soft, said, “This coffin is meant for him, isn't it? Good, very good...”
• With that, she ignored me, heading straight out of the shop.
• Stepping outside, she opened her black umbrella and paused for a moment. She then turned back to give me a somewhat eerie smile. “By the way, the fifteenth of the seventh lunar month is a good day. I'll make the arrangements for you to get married on that day. Tell your grandfather to prepare!”
• Before I could respond, she hurried away with her umbrella.
• Watching her leave, I muttered under my breath, “She's crazy!”
• I had already concluded in my heart that this old woman was mentally ill as her behavior was inexplicably erratic. So, I didn't take her words to heart.
• It wasn't until dusk when my grandfather returned, clearly tipsy. We had a chat, whipped up a simple dinner, and then headed upstairs to sleep.
• Our shop was a two-story building—the burial clothing shop downstairs and our living quarters upstairs. It was a small space of about forty square meters.
• Late at night, I tossed my phone aside and was about to sleep when I heard a noise.
• Thud!
• It was muffled, and at first, I ignored it. But after it repeated a few times, I grew uneasy.
• The sound wasn't coming from my grandfather's room as it was from downstairs.
• A thief?
• I rolled out of bed, grabbed a small wooden stool from the room, and quietly opened the door. I didn't want to startle my elderly grandfather.
• With the lights off, I tightly clutched the small wooden stool, cautiously descending the stairs. My heart was pounding with anxiety.
• Though the lights were off, I could still vaguely make out what was happening in the burial clothing shop downstairs, thanks to the moonlight spilling in from the window.
• There was no one!
• The doors and windows were all intact, tightly shut.
• I let out a sigh of relief and turned on the light, letting out a helpless chuckle. I couldn't help but mock myself for being overly sensitive.
• Even if there were a thief, they wouldn't target a burial clothing shop.
• Just as I was about to turn off the lights and head upstairs to sleep, my gaze inadvertently swept over the coffin tucked away in the corner. I was instantly taken aback.
• The coffin lid had shifted noticeably.
• My heart, which had just calmed down, raced again. Gripping the small wooden stool tightly, I stared fixedly at the coffin, feeling my muscles tense.
• Before going to bed that night, the coffin was perfectly intact. Clearly, someone had tampered with it.
• The doors and windows were securely shut, so how did the coffin lid shift?
• As I pondered this unsettling question that made fear rise in my heart, a faint sound of footsteps behind me startled me.
• I quickly turned my head and saw it was my grandfather, which made me breathe a sigh of relief.
• At that moment, my grandfather's face took on a grim expression. His gaze was fixed intently on the coffin, completely ignoring me as he strode purposefully toward the black casket.
• Upon reaching the coffin, the sight of the misaligned lid made his face turn even more grim.
• His voice was low and serious when he asked, “Zayne, did someone touch this coffin during the day?”